PS 3507 
.R35 G7 
1921 
Copy 1 



pf 



THE GREY VALLEY 




NICHOLAS DRAKE 







v.o 



Hz 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT, 



THE GREY VALLEY 



BY 



Nicholas Drake 



1921 



RICHMOND, VA. 

BROWN PRINT SHOP, INC. 

PRINTERS 






COPYRIGHT, 1921 

BY 

NICHOLAS DRAKE 



'Cf.A627985 



J iiF&trat^ tijta Itttl^ b00k 

to mjj 

SfatljFr anh iiotlj^r 



FOREWORD 

The poems contained in this little volume, with a 
few exceptions, have previously appeared in The Times- 
Dispatch, or in The Richmond Evening Journal. There- 
fore, I have set aside this page for the purpose of 
thanking Mr. S. T. Clover, the former editor of The 
Journal, and Mr. H. E. Warner, of The Times-Dispatch, 
for their many courtesies. 

NICHOLAS DRAKE. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

His Voice 9 

The House Is Still 10 

Where Fancy Lives 11 

His Scraggy Dog 12 

From the Dead 13 

Song-Thrush 14 

The Old Man 15 

Easter 16 

Throbbing of the Funeral Drums 17 

Looking Forward 18 

First Flowers: From a Persian Myth 19 

Life's Pictures 20 

Summer's Eve 21 

Children's Time 22 

On Easter Morn 23 

Asrael 24 

Faith 26 

The Thoroughbred 27 



THE GREY VALLEY 



His Voice 

In sunset glow and in each gleam 

The stars portray at night. 
In every ripple of the stream 

That leaps to greet the sight, 
And in the petals of the rose 

Which nestles by the thorn 
There is a Voice which swells and flows 

To souls of men reborn. 

They understand, the sons of man, 

And sons of God become, 
When turning from the sordid plan 

They hear in summer's hum 
The Voice which spoke in Galilee, 

Which told of life and love: 
For sights and sounds on land and sea 

Are words from God above. 



10 The Grey Valley 



The House Is Still 

Aye, they have all gone to bed, 

The house is dark and still, 
And their thoughts of day have fled 

Away and o'er the hill — ' 
O'er the hill of dusky gray 

That into valleys fold, 
To the place where children play 

Who now are nearly old. 

Yes, they have all gone to bed. 

The men who once were boys — 
And, perhaps, again they tread 

The field of youthful joys. 
And the frowzy pup leads on 

To Staple's swimmin' hole. 
Where no fancy garb is worn 

When leaping from the knoll. 

Aye, they have all gone to bed. 

The house is dark and drear — 
But they list to sounds long dead 

That rise again in air, 
And someone mayhap, is seen 

As she stands near the door 
Of the gabled house of green 

Where once they lived of yore. 



The Grey Valley 11 



Where Fancy Lives 

When night's bleak frost is in the air, 
And luna's sheen is bright and cold, 
I think no more of daily care, 
Nor feel the grip of toil's hold; 
For then I dream the dreams God gives 
To souls of men of work and play 
Who seek the place where Fancy lives 
On dusty shelves midst shadows gray. 

Give me a book and quiet nook 

And fast I'll sail for old Cathay — 

Then on I'll go and gently look 

Upon the maids of Mandalay. 

As gales from north lands outside blow 

Give me a stirring tale at home 

And o'er the snow I'll gaily go 

E'en though I trek my way to Nome. 



12 The Grey Valley 



His Scraggy Dog 

The old, old mutt, the scraggy dog 

He left when he went away 
Goes the round of the old-time haunts — 

From the church to dance hall gay. 

While merry throngs pass by, he stands 
With his head hung down, forlorn, 

And seems to say in doggish way, 
"My master and god is gone." 

A whistle he hears in the night 
That seems as his comrade's call. 

Yet, still it lacks a note he knows. 
So back goes he to his stall. 

But he will find the one he seeks 

There, perhaps, in Realms of Right, 

When answers he the call he knows. 
As it comes through gates of light. 



The Grey Valley 13 



From the Dead 

You are the dead; we are the souls who live! 
O, comrades, save thy tears, thy laughter give- 
Tomorrow thou and I again shall tread 
The fields we love — but not among the dead! 
For life is mine, and I before thee stand 
A friend and leader to a better land. 

They say we died; let this now be thy trust: 

The body's evil only turns to dust! 

Among the clouds of white and by thy side 

Live those who drink of life — the men who've died! 

So dry thine eyes, ye who are still in pain, 

And keep the faith, for we shall meet again. 



14 The Greij Valley 



Song-Thrush 

OJ^ten I've heard the mavis-bird 

Singing the sweetest lay, 
Yet when I hear again each year 

His happy song of May 
My spirit fills with new-born thrills 

And free I feel and gay. 

I love the rare enchanting air 

Pandean-pipes now play, 
And every tale told in the vale 

In memory-mine shall stay — 
But heard o'er all is the clear love call 

The mavis chants today. 



The Grey Valley 15 



The Old Man 

They saw not the smile within, nor the fire 
That burned behind his lusterless gray eyes; 
They only saw his age, his tattered garb, 
His battered hat and worn-out, shineless shoes; 
And when he passed the door they pitied him. 
I wonder why it was he pitied them? 



16 The Grey Valley 



Easter 

The earth's bright carpet now is down 

And zephyrs sweep it clean, 
While overhead the tree tops spread 

Their gowns of tinted green; 
With rhythmic notes the air is filled 

As nature croons and hums — 
And pixies dance o'er earth's expanse 

When Spring's sweet spirit comes. 

How well the season fits the day 

When He from death arose, 
And found the clime of life sublime, 

Free from all worldly woes. 
Because of Him all fears are stilled, 

Golgotha now is past, 
For visions bright of lands of light 

Belong to us at last. 



The Grey Valley 17 



Throbbing of the Funeral Drums 

Another hero dead ? Another 

Soul fled from earth ? 
Dead? No! 
His soul still lives, and 

To us gives new strength 
To meet the foe. 
Back of the firing-line. 

Back of the struggle comes 
The sobbing and throbbing 

Of the funeral drums. 

Ah, mothers, those sons of you born, 
Do they seem from you forever shorn? 
You know they are not lost, but still 
You murmur, "Gone." 

Though it is miles away, she sees 

The procession as it comes. 
And she hears the sobbing and throbbing 

Of the funeral drums. 
I try to comfort her 

And her pain to allay. 
And she hears me not. 

Yet she hears far away 
The sobbing and throbbing 

Of the funeral drums. 



18 The Grey Valley 



Looking Forward 

Lift thine eyes, O, World, 

From ashes and from dust; 
Behold the flag unfurled 

In which the nations trust, 
God will be our guide. 

To lead to pastures fair. 
We know He will provide 

For us His children there. 

Sheathed is now the sword. 

No more we view the night; 
Wreathed are the graves, 0, Lord, 

We see the future bright. 
The grim past now is dead 

And there beyond the tears, 
Caused by the fields dyed red. 

Rise blessed future years. 



The Grey Valley 19 



First Flowers: From a Persian Myth 

When Ahura-Mazdao 

Directed man to cut 

The breast of Earth loud cries 

Arose to the angels 

Asking intercession 

For Armati, goddess 

Of the Earth and giver 

Of increase; but knowing 

The Almighty wisdom 

Of Ahura-Mazdao, 

The Omnipotent God, 

The Giver of All Life, 

His glorious angels 

Sorrowfully refused. 

Yet Ahura-Mazdao, 

Seeing the pain of Earth, 

Hearing Armati in 

Anguish, determined to 

Compensate her, though He 

"Would not alleviate 

Her pain, as men must raise 

Food by plowing the ground; 

Therefore, He took perfume 

From the pots of incense 

That ever in heaven 

Burn — ^which gives forth sweet smells — 

And, combined with carmine 

Taken from the setting 

Sun, made a wondrous work 

Named Flowers, and gave to 

Suffering Armati, 

Who, smiling through her tears, 

Clasped them to her bosom. 



20 The Grey Valley 



Life's Pictures 

When life's pictures are painted 

And the last touches made, 
When we have toned the high lights 

And brightened all the shade, 
Will the good, loving Master 

Judge each work side by side? 
Or will He merely rule by 

How hard the painter tried? 

Will He value each painting 

By the size of the frame? 
And before passing judgment 

Look for the painter's name? 
Or will He judge each painting. 

Will He the worth decide. 
By hov/ well it is finished and 

How hard the painter tried? 



The Grey Valley 21 



Summer's Eve 

The hills that rise against the skies 

God's altars are and free, 
While swaying trees are praying trees, 

All bending reverently; 
And the notes heard from each wild bird 

Songs are divine in praise, 
Pulsing in air with that hymn rare 

The brook forever plays. 

All nature sings of greater things 

Than those which mankind sees. 
For fancy's flight, too great for sight. 

Leaps to angelic keys; 
And he who hears the song of years 

On rippling nights in June, 
Up from the sod to greet his God 

Rises with soul in tune. 



22 The Grey Valley 



Children's Time 

Christmas is for children, 

As often has been said, 
And all the decorations 

So gay, of green and red, 
Are just to greet Saint Nick, 

Who brings the children toys, 
And nothing means to us — 

The grown-up girls and boys! 

Children's time, children's time, 

O, surely 'tis the truth; 
It is just the time of times 

For carefree, singing youth. 
So let's put old age out, 

While bringing in the toys, 
And let us sing today. 

And just be girls and boys. 



The Grey Valley 23 



On Easter Morn 

This morn saw I pass slowly by 
A bier black as very night — 

No soul save I and a passerby 
Saw the grim and ghastly sight. 

Turning, asked I of the passerby, 
"Why are no tears this morn shed 

For him who lies with vacant eyes 
Yonder, cold and dead?" 

The passerby to me drew nigh 
And smiled as He clearly said: 

"Why should tears fall upon the pall? 
There Death lies dead." 



24 The Grey Valley 



Asrael 

Last night a beautiful 

Angel hovered o'er me 

In my dreams. Within his 

Hand he held a goblet 

Of gold, and his waist was 

Encircled by a small 

Girdle with a phoenix 

Embroidered upon it. 

My imagination 

Had never conceived the 

Thought before there was such 

A wonderful being, 

Even in realms above; 

Though often I pondered 

About the land beyond — 

Of Elysium I 

IncessantljT^ thought — yet 

The fairest thought of mine 

Could not match the fairness 

Of the angel standing 

Before me ... I questioned 

Him, "Who art thou?" And the 

Spirit answered, saying, 

"I am Asrael, the 

Angel of Death." Surprised, 

This beautiful soul was 

None other than the hard. 

Grim Reaper. Again spake 

I: "Then why come ye as 

One who brings hope and life? 



The Grey Valley 25 



Is this disguise meant for 

An evil purpose of 

Thine ? The cup of gold is 

Filled with a bitter drink 

Which takes the life of man. 

Perhaps." But he replied, 

"The golden vessel that 

I have contains precious 

Elixir." I pondered 

Awhile this strange speech of 

His . . . Then truth came to me, 

I cried, "Thou, Asrael 

Art the Angel o^ Life!" 



tS The Grey Valley 



Faith 

Sitting on yon bare tree 
Sings the gay opechee, 
Thinking not of sorrow, 
Nor of snows of morrow, 
Thinking of life and love. 

Singing there, without care, 
On the bough above. 

Little bird, you shame me, 
With faith you inflame me, 
Today, I, too, shall sing. 
Forgetting everything. 
Excepting life and love. 

For His arm saves from harm 
Those who look above. 



The Grey Valley 27 



The Thorougrhbred 

When the cur is spent and torn 
He will whimper, beg and moan, 

And he will lie on his back on the ground; 
But the thoroughbred doesn't know 
When he is licked by a foe, 

And he will stand till the end of the round. 

So, when you're bruised and you're worn 
It will take nerve to keep on — 

But that is the test of a thoroughbred; 
And they will say you have grit 
If you don't grumble and quit — 

If you don't lie down— until you are dead! 



J-'BRARY OF CONGRESS 

J) 015 908 038 9 • 












